


Scenic

by faithlessone



Series: Stormheart - (M!Trevelyan/Cassandra) [22]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, but she does like flower crowns, cassandra hates bears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26915698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithlessone/pseuds/faithlessone
Summary: Despite being full of many different vicious creatures, endless people who want to kill them, and multiple creepy abandoned chateaus, the Emerald Graves are… surprisingly beautiful. If he ignores the fact that it’s called, well, the Graves, and all that implies, he’d even think it was a little… romantic.(An afternoon in the Emerald Graves, involving apples, bears, & flower crowns.)
Relationships: Cassandra Pentaghast/Male Trevelyan, Male Inquisitor/Cassandra Pentaghast
Series: Stormheart - (M!Trevelyan/Cassandra) [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756030
Comments: 11
Kudos: 22





	Scenic

The rebel mage and his small party are no match for the Inquisitor and his.

They hadn’t even been hiding that well. Not that Brennan had actually been hunting, exactly. Having left the Chateau D’Onterre, he, Cassandra, Varric, and Dorian had circled north, taking the scenic route around the edge of the troll infestation blocking the direct path to the Direstone camp, and just… stumbled across them.

This is the last target on Cassandra’s list, if he remembers correctly, so he takes the opportunity to hang back, watching Cassandra work. His staff remains at the ready, of course; he isn’t so careless as to render himself incapable of helping her if she needs it, but she doesn’t seem to need it. And it’s been a while since he was able to just… watch.

There is something… divinely picturesque about the way she fights.

(Not that ‘divine’ is a word he actually wants anywhere near Cassandra, he thinks, an unbidden shudder coursing down his spine, unless it’s her telling him who else has been elected.)

Her sword flashes in the bright sunlight that flickers through the tree canopy above them, her armour glinting in it too. Will he ever stop smiling at the armour they designed? Probably not. He hopes that she’ll… yes… there, the clearing lights up with holy fire as she calls down the Wrath of Heaven, stunning the mage and his two remaining allies. She uses the distraction to dart forwards, knocking the warrior’s sword from his hand, and then, with a grunt of effort, severing his head from his shoulders.

Just the mage and a rogue left.

“Trevelyan, are you well?” Dorian’s voice diverts his attention as the altus steps up beside him, checking him over for injury. Then, after a beat. “Oh, I _see_.”

He should tell him to get back to work. He should get back to work himself, for that matter, but he’s too… distracted.

“What do you _see_?”

Dorian leans against his staff, body at rest though the fight is not finished. “She is… _quite_ ravishing, your lady fair, in her element. If you like that sort of thing, of course.”

Varric appears next to them, invisibility dropping as he rests Bianca against his shoulder. “Is this a mage-only viewing party, or can anyone join in?”

He should _really_ break this up, but then Cassandra deflects a dagger strike with her shield, following through and hitting the man in the face. He stumbles backwards, nose clearly broken.

“All invited. Just admiring our warrior’s ass _… ets_ ,” Dorian replies, drawing the last word out far beyond its natural bounds. Brennan takes the opportunity to punch him lightly in the arm for it.

Cassandra uses her shield again, deflecting a firebolt from the mage straight at the rogue, who is still distracted by the blood in his eyes. He falls and doesn’t move again.

Just the mage to go.

“Bit on the tall side for me, but I see what you mean,” Varric adds, tilting his head in a way Brennan does not like _at all._ He gently thumps the dwarf’s shoulder with his staff.

“We are admiring her _technique_ , and nothing else, thank you.”

The other two laugh at him, but luckily, he is saved from further comments by the subject of their focus side-stepping another beam of fire, and stabbing her sword through the rebel mage’s shoulder, angling her blade in such a way as to make mincemeat of his internal organs. He falls to the grass, and she pulls her sword free, wiping it clean on his robes.

Then she turns, and sees the three of them, waiting on the edge of the little camp area. A frisson of panic runs through his body.

Maker, he didn’t actually mean to let her _catch_ him watching her.

Is she going to be angry with him?

With them?

“Enjoying yourselves?” is all she says as she draws close.

“Exceedingly,” Dorian replies before he can think of anything.

She laughs, a short, sharp sound that suggests she isn’t as happy with them as she is pretending to be. “Then we shall depart. I believe the scouts’ map points to another red lyrium deposit to the west?”

Varric grimaces at that. “Ugh. Let’s get it over with.”

They fall into their usual pattern of companionable silence and chatter as they walk through the Graves, skirting past the entrance to Din'an Hanin. Varric and Dorian soon start talking about some… bet or other, but he tunes them out in favour of glancing sideways at Cassandra, trying to work out if he should apologise, and how.

“I can feel your eyes on me,” she says eventually. “Again.”

“Sorry,” he answers instinctively, forcing himself to look at the path, and Dorian and Varric, ahead of them. “And… sorry. For before.”

“I trust that you would have intervened, had I needed you. And I did not need you.”

He lets out a stuttered breath that is part agreement and part appreciation, and she flashes him a tight smile that he only sees out of the corner of his eye.

They lapse back into silence.

She’s definitely angry with him. He feels like a beast. What he did was foolish. Foolish and thoughtless. What if something had happened? Just because he had had his staff ready to cast doesn’t mean that something couldn’t have gone wrong, and especially when the other two stopped helping her either…

Distracted by his thoughts, he bumps into Dorian’s back, the other mage having come to a very unexpected stop. Another moment, and he sees why.

A Great Bear, huge and shaggy, is a little way off, blocking the path ahead. The creature has his back to them, and doesn’t seem to have heard them coming yet.

“Fight or evade?” Brennan asks in a whisper.

“I have no desire for bear fur,” Dorian responds. “I vote evade.”

“No sense in wasting Bianca’s bolts,” Varric concurs.

Cassandra shrugs, and they turn, heading back towards the wall that borders Din'an Hanin to find another route.

However, they have barely taken a handful of steps, when another huge, shaggy great bear emerges in front of them. Larger than the first, and a good deal more interested in them.

Flanked.

By bloody bears.

_Again._

Dorian lets out a put-upon sigh. “Wild animals everywhere. Don't these people _hunt_?”

Varric laughs. “At least it’s only two. Remember…”

“Cassandra and the three bears?” Brennan cuts in. “In the Hinterlands? Who could forget?”

“I will remind you that you almost _died_ ,” Cassandra interjects.

“Only because you started it!”

“I’m not even going to ask,” Dorian sighs, holding up his staff. “But shall we get on with this?”

Varric unholsters Bianca in response, swinging her up onto his shoulder as the great bear begins to take interest in them. Brennan follows suit with his staff, seeing Cassandra moving in his peripheral vision as he stretches out his shoulders and prepares to cast.

He fires off a few lightning spells as Dorian attacks with fire and Varric cloaks himself to flank the creature.

But Cassandra…

Glancing off to his left, he sees her swing up into a convenient tree. An… _unconventional_ tactic for a warrior, perhaps, but he assumes she has a plan, so he turns his attention back to the bear. Luckily the first one has not yet decided to join the fray, so they can focus their fire instead of splitting it.

Varric flickers into sight, firing a bolt at the back of the bear’s neck, distracting it enough for Brennan to get in a few slices with his spirit blade. The bear rears, bellowing a yell that is sure to bring reinforcements, and he expects Cassandra to step in, to take over the close-quarters work as she usually does, but… she doesn’t.

He glances back, and not only is she still in the tree, she has produced an apple from somewhere, and is happily munching on it, her sword still sheathed.

 _Oh_.

… payback.

This is _payback_.

She catches his eye and smiles, saluting him with the half-eaten apple.

As predicted, the first bear soon approaches.

Brennan casts another glance up at Cassandra, but she seems unbothered. Leaving Dorian and Varric to their current foe, he turns his attention towards the newcomer. It approaches slowly, warily…

A well-timed ice glyph cast in its path freezes it solid.

“Enjoying yourself?” he calls up.

She smiles. “ _Exceedingly_.”

(Definitely payback.)

The fight progresses slower than usual, with the absence of their warrior. Brennan is forced to use his spirit blade more aggressively in the absence of a close-quarters fighter, fade-stepping around their cramped battlefield as often as he can. Dorian maintains his distance, keeping up a steady stream of flame and ice, keeping both targets distracted. Varric weaves around the small area, invisible more often than not, the only clue to his whereabouts being the bolts than he lets fly. At several points, Brennan glances up, expecting Cassandra to come to their aid, but she remains on her perch, watching them closely.

“Another blighter falls!” Dorian yells, triumphant, as one of the bears falls to the ground.

The second takes a little longer, but eventually, it too falls to their combined efforts. As it takes its last breath, Cassandra hops down from her branch, dusting her hands off on the thighs of her leathers.

“Did you enjoy your workout?” she asks conversationally.

Dorian gives her a slightly exasperated grin.

“Point made, Seeker,” Varric notes.

The two of them sling their weapons across their backs, but he hesitates a little. Though, as proved, the Great Bears had been within their capabilities, he can’t help feeling like he hasn’t redeemed himself yet.

Cassandra grasps his hand, looking into his eyes.

“Trust that I would have intervened, had you needed me. And you did _not_ need me.”

He nods uncertainly.

“Hey, boss?” Varric’s voice distracts him from Cassandra’s gaze, not to mention the dwarf’s hand in his pack.

“Yes?”

“Sparkler and I can go hit that red lyrium deposit. It’s not that far, and we’ll be quicker by ourselves. You and the Seeker should go back to the camp, fill in the scouts on the creepy Chateau. We’ll meet you there.”

It’s a solid plan, even if it does feel a little like he’s being dismissed.

Cassandra nods, and they part ways.

Despite being full of many different vicious creatures, endless people who want to kill them, and multiple creepy abandoned chateaus, the Emerald Graves are… surprisingly beautiful. If he ignores the fact that it’s called, well, the Graves, and all that implies, he’d even think it was a little… romantic.

He slips his hand into Cassandra’s.

“Perhaps we could take the scenic route back?” he asks.

“By scenic, do you mean beautiful trees, or is this your way of saying you want to fight a troll?”

He considers it, for far longer than he should, he’s certain. There is no doubt that, if today has taught him anything, it has taught him that he prefers fighting with Cassandra by his side rather than without her (and presumably vice versa, given her reaction). But the trolls are huge, and have a nasty habit of flinging boulders at him, and… well, it seems a little foolhardy for them to go up against one alone.

“Beautiful trees, definitely,” he promises.

She smiles.

They walk back towards the small river that splits the area. Slowly. Vigilant, of course, but nothing else attacks them.

“My ancestors hunted dragons here ages ago,” Cassandra notes, as they wander. “Hard to picture what it was like then.”

“It seems like the sort of place that’s always been wild. Green and untamed. Or did you mean the dragons? The scouts say there’s one that nests north of here. I think it was on the map. We could go and see if we can catch sight of it. It’s not really bothering anyone at the moment, but the scouts are keeping an eye on it. We might have to intervene at some point.”

“Not today, thank you.”

He smiles at her. “Don’t worry. Bull pouts when I even think of fighting dragons without him, it’s true. I thought he was going to _cry_ when he heard about the three in Emprise. It’s like kicking a puppy. A really big, horned puppy.”

She laughs, the sound soothing his soul. “I doubt he would approve of the comparison. A wolf, perhaps, but not a puppy.”

“You might be right. Oh! Did you know that the ancient elves here kept wolves? The Emerald Knights, I mean. Not as pets. Companions, of a sort. They fought together, hunted together, ate together. Like the Fereldans keep mabari, I suppose. But _wolves_.”

“Would you like us to try and tame one for you?”

She’s teasing him, he knows, but the idea does sound good. Perhaps after they have dealt with Corypheus, he can turn some energy towards finding and raising some wolf cubs. Cubs are bound to be easier to train than the full-grown ones that keep trying to kill him…

They reach the water. A river, according to their maps, but barely more than a stream. The Rush of Sighs, they call it, if he remembers correctly. He turns them west a little.

“This is… not the direction of the camp,” she notes, correct as ever.

“Scenic route, remember?”

“At this rate, Varric and Dorian will return before us.”

He shrugs. “So we got lost. What of it?”

“ _We_ have the map.”

“We don’t, actually. Varric swiped it after the bear fight.”

She almost stumbles, though whether from the shock of him correcting her, or the slippery rocks beneath their boots, he won’t speculate. He uses his grip on her hand to keep them both upright, chuckling slightly.

“How did you think they were going to find the red lyrium deposit?”

“I…” she starts, and then thinks better of it. “Oh.”

“You know, there’s a waterfall, if we carry on this way.”

“I remember.”

“Very _scenic_.”

“You would know.”

Is she still angry at him? He’s not sure. She’s not… smiling, exactly, but she doesn’t seem as grumpy with him as she was earlier. And she _is_ still holding his hand.

He steadies her as they clamber over some gigantic tree roots, and then they come to a small patch of grass and flowers almost hidden from view between the rocks. A pair of little brown nugs scurry past. It seems very… serene.

Stopping, he gives her another glance.

“Fancy a break?”

She frowns, looking around them. “Here? But…”

“This is the first time we’ve been properly alone in days, Cassandra. Weeks, even. Not since we were at Skyhold.”

“We were _alone_ last night, Brennan.”

“What? At the camp? Hey, no… sleeping doesn’t count!”

He releases her hand, sitting down with his back against the rocks, leg stretched out in front of him. For a moment, he thinks she will call his bluff and start walking back towards the camp, but, with a sigh and a very pointed roll of her eyes, she sits down beside him. He can’t help the grin that spreads over his face.

The sun is beginning to dip in the sky. Still a few hours till dusk, but the light is softer, more golden than it has been. The grass is pleasantly spongy and cushioned beneath him, speckled all over by small yellow flowers that he should probably know the name of. He runs his fingers through them, revelling in the peace. After most of the day spent exploring and fighting by turns, it is very pleasant to simply sit and admire the scenery with his love.

“So… we are alone,” she prompts, after a little while. “And you are being uncharacteristically quiet. Is something wrong?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing wrong. Just enjoying the ambiance for a minute. Any more apples in that pack of yours?”

She grins. “Sadly not. But it was a good accompaniment to my entertainment.”

He grins back at her. “Pity. But I’m glad. Though, perhaps we shan’t have a repeat? I think it’s probably safer for all involved if there aren’t any more… viewing parties.”

“I quite agree.”

He takes a breath, relieved. “So… how do you feel about ticking the last name off your list?”

The sudden change of topic throws her a little, but she recovers soon enough, her expression turning solemn.

“I am pleased, of course. Each lawbreaker, each evil faction eradicated is a benefit to us. But it… does not feel as good as I was expecting. The people on my list were a drop in the ocean, a grain of sand in the desert. There are so many more who need to be stopped. Especially in the wake of the rebellion, the aftermath of the Conclave, the consequences of Adamant, and all that followed. And with my order so depleted, so misguided, there are fewer of us to deal with them.”

“I’m sorry it’s taken us so long to find these few.”

She smiles softly. “We have many more pressing demands on our time. The fate of the world rests on our shoulders, as well you know.”

“Still. Anything you want, just say the word. We’ll figure it out.”

“Anything?” Her eyes light up.

“Well, I mean, I probably can’t make you Empress of Orlais, or even Queen of Navarra, unless you think King Markus would be in favour of that, and we probably do have to obey the laws of physics, but…” Clarity suddenly dawns on him. “Unless you meant… in the bedroom, in which case…”

“In good time,” she cuts in. “First, you can start by telling me what you are doing.”

He tracks her gaze to his hands, almost surprised to see a pile of flowers in his lap. Some of them are linked together, end to end. A dim memory pushes to the forefront of his mind, a vague recollection of a time he hasn’t visited in many, many years.

“I think I’m making a flower crown?” he tells her, unsure of himself.

She frowns a little, but fond with it. “You think? It was not intentional?”

Now that he’s aware of what he was previously doing unwittingly, his fingers get heavy and clumsy. The muscle memory remains, but they were smaller hands then. A child’s hands.

“My sister taught me how to make them when we were young,” he explains. “Evie. We spent hours, some days. Father didn’t like it, me playing with her instead of my brothers, but it was easier than listening to her complain heartily about not having a sister to play with. There were other girls around, of course, but…” He trails off. It’s been so long since he really thought about those days when he was young, before his magic manifested.

“She liked you best,” Cassandra suggests.

He nods. “I think so. I was the only one of us who would listen to her stories, have tea parties with her, admire her embroidery and her paintings. She was always so creative.”

“Do you still keep in touch? I have not heard you talk about her much.”

He shakes his head. “We exchanged a few long letters when I was an apprentice. Then she grew up and got married. Some fancy Marcher lord, I forget his name. They sent me an invitation, all gold calligraphy and sparkling flourishes, even though I was obviously not permitted to leave the Circle to attend. After that, it was just a handful of announcements here and there. Mostly about her children. Seven, I believe, at last count.”

“ _Seven_?”

Cassandra’s astonishment seems to know no bounds.

He shrugs. “She always wanted a husband and a big family, even when we were children ourselves. She was barely fourteen when I went away to the Circle, but she’d already started thinking about her wedding dress, and the flowers she would carry. Picked out names enough for a dozen children. She was old enough to go to the parties I was too young for, and practice flirting with the boys. Normal, for a noble girl, I assumed.”

“ _I_ was not like that.”

“Didn’t your family throw suitors in your path?”

“My uncle did, waves of them. Until I broke one's arm. Then there were fewer.”

He can’t help the laugh that bursts out of him. “Lady Pentaghast!”

“It was an accident! Well... mostly an accident.”

“Pray tell.”

She scowls a little, making a disgruntled noise. “I was training with my sword-master while the man was staying with us. He offered to spar, thinking to curry favour with me, I assume. He would not _fight_ though. Kept waving his sword around but barely attempted to attack me with it. So I bashed him with my shield.”

“You broke his arm with a wooden practice shield?”

“It was made of nevarrite, not wood, and I dislocated his elbow. He must have had weak bones. Or an injury he did not reveal to me. Idiot. He left my uncle’s house that same day and did not return. I was glad of it.”

“Well, _I_ will remember never to hold back with you. I like my arms as they are.”

She sighs. “Have no fear. So do I.”

He follows her gaze to his hands again. Distracted from focussing on his work, he finds he has almost finished. A chain of blossoms lie in his lap. He measures it with his fingers. Probably enough to wrap around her head, if he tucks the ends at the back of her braid. Would she allow it?

“Are you done?” she asks.

He’s half-expecting her to be bored, or impatient, but she just seems… curious.

“I think so,” he admits.

“You did promise me flowers.”

He looks up at her, certain that he has misunderstood her. She can’t be… asking for the crown, surely? Not just willing to wear it, on sufferance, like the many little quests and errands she has tolerated over the near two years they have been travelling together, but actually desirous of it?

“If you cannot give me the crown of Orlais, I will accept a crown _from_ Orlais,” she adds, her tone light and teasing and… warm. So warm.

Maker’s breath, how is he this lucky?

He shifts, lifting the chain of flowers and placing them carefully into her hair. She remains perfectly still until he pulls back, and then she gives him a cautious smile.

“How do I look?”

Taking the time to consider his answer would probably shake her confidence, so he responds with the first thing that comes into his head.

“Like a goddess. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. But, in all honesty, I think that all the time. The flowers don’t change it.”

Her smile warms and softens.

“You flatter me.”

“I’m trying.”

She leans over, cupping his cheek in her hand, and presses her lips against his. The kiss is gentle, though not without passion.

He wishes they could stay here for the rest of the afternoon, but when she pulls back, mouth kiss-reddened and eyes still sparkling, he knows their responsibilities can’t be put on hold forever. She wouldn’t be the Cassandra he loves if she let him keep them away from their duties.

“Back to camp?” he says, softly.

She smiles and nods.

She does not, however, remove the flowers from her hair.

(Could he love her any more than he does?)

The Direstone camp is not far from their rest stop. Just along the little river and down the hill a bit. As they descend the hill, however, they hear raised voices, echoing from the camp.

“But what if they’ve been attacked by trolls?” asks one of the scouts, in a frantic tone. “Or those… brontos?”

“A bronto isn’t going to attack unless they attacked it first,” Varric responds, his tone exasperated. “The kid’s not that stupid, and even if he is, the Seeker isn’t.”

“They probably got… distracted. Picking flowers, or some such,” Dorian adds, with a note of mischief in his voice that suggests he definitely doesn’t think they were picking flowers.

“I still think we should send out a search party!” the scout insists, her voice getting higher and more terrified with every passing sentence. “You said yourselves they were heading straight back here. Maybe they got lost! Maybe they’re _dead_! Maker, if they’re dead, Lady Nightingale will _murder me_ , and not fast either, no. She’ll make it _hurt_.”

They reach the turning that will bring them within sight of the camp, and he draws to a stop, halting Cassandra too.

“What are you…” she starts, but he presses a finger against his lips, signalling for silence. He wants to hear a little more.

“Nightingale’s not going to murder you, sweetheart,” Varric promises. “Give it till dusk, if the lovebirds aren’t back by then, we’ll go scour the area.”

“Loudly,” Dorian adds. “Not that I’d mind seeing the show, but Cassandra strikes me as the sort who would, well, strike.”

“You hear that?” he whispers in her ear. “We’ve got till dusk. Shall we sneak away again? We could go and find that waterfall…”

She gives him a warning look.

He grins back at her.

“Fine, we’ll do it your way.” He takes another few steps forward, bringing them both around the bend. “No fear, here we are!”

The scout nearly swoons, sagging against the requisitions table with a very overdramatic sigh. He makes a mental note to advise Leliana to put her in a less _stressful_ position. For the sake of her health, of course.

Dorian smiles, triumphant. “What did I tell you? Distracted picking flowers!”

“Love the crown, Seeker. Really suits you. Didn’t know you were into that kind of thing.”

He doesn’t mean to hold his breath, waiting for her to respond to Varric, but today has been a little more… antagonistic than usual. She might have forgiven _him_ for the events of the day, but he likes to think he has a little more sway with her than they do.

However, despite the awkward images in his head, her being upset or angry or embarrassed, she simply smiles.

“Thank you. But it was the Inquisitor’s handiwork.”

All three heads swivel towards him, a variety of expressions on their faces. He isn’t sure whether to be more insulted by Varric’s smug ‘I knew it’, or the scout’s dumbfounded, but strangely Sera-like, glee, but it’s Dorian that speaks first.

“I have only one question, Trevelyan.”

(He’s going to regret this, he knows it.)

“Yes?”

“Can you make one for me?”

He glances at Cassandra, at her raised eyebrow, waiting patiently for his response. Though he has no doubt that Dorian would look rather fetching in a wreath of blooms, perhaps pale blue to bring out the colour of his eyes, he feels there is only one correct answer.

“No.”


End file.
